‘Have a nice,’ she smiled at me, ‘. . . relaxing time, eh? And don’t think about all that stuff.’
‘Okay,’ I smiled back and picked up the bag. ‘And tell Carmel I’m sorry about her mother . . . and that I’m . . . er, thinking of her,’ I added, feeling very self-conscious.
‘I will,’ Jude said. She got back into the car and they took off.
Once inside I was immediately warmed by my parents’ gladness to see me. They took me straight into the formal sitting-room at the front of the house.
‘We’ve heated your room, darling,’ Mum said, taking my coat. She was dressed in a pleated navy checked skirt and a cream cashmere jumper, a lovely gold brooch at her throat. Dad poured a glass of champagne and handed it to me with a smile.
‘Here’s to our girl!’ he said. ‘The others will be back soon.’ He was dressed like a country gentleman. A silk cravat around his neck, comfortable woollen jumper, and slacks. I raised the glass to my mouth, thinking that I much preferred the look of him in his work clothes; those old army pants and big hand-knitted jumpers he wore out on the farm.
‘So, where are they?’ I asked, taking another sip. ‘The happy couple?’ Now that I was home I was curious about my future brother-in-law.
‘They’ll be here any minute. Asked in for a drink next door,’ Dad said heartily. ‘You know what a favourite Lou is with old Edward and Barbara.’
‘Yes,’ I said. I must have looked sour because Mum burst into a peal of laughter.
‘Oh, get that look off your face, Katerina,’ she chortled, squeezing my arm. ‘They love you, too! You’re both favourites!’ ‘You know I’m not,’ I said. ‘You know they love Lou best.’
‘Rubbish!’ exclaimed Dad.
‘Absolute rot!’ from my mother.
I sat down, embarrassed to think that my self-esteem could have reached such a low ebb.
‘To our clever, beautiful daughter,’ my mother added, ‘who is doing so well.’ I took another deep gulp, which almost finished the glass. Be careful. Be careful. Everything in the room, the open fire, the lovely music, the deep carpets, was soothing. There was no need to panic.
‘Dinner will be soon, darling. You must be starving,’ Mum said, fussing around with table napkins. ‘We thought we’d have it in here. The dining-room is too big and cold at this time of the year for just the five of us. And we certainly didn’t want to put you in the kitchen!’
‘Lovely,’ I said, pushing my hands towards the fire. ‘Thanks, everything is lovely.’
‘I’ve asked Jim to get Tessy ready for you,’ my father beamed. ‘He’ll come in and take you out around seven tomorrow morning. That’s if you don’t want to sleep in.’ Tessy was my horse, kept out on one of our properties about six kilometres from town. And Jim was a workman who’d been with us for years. Dad trusted him absolutely with the running of the place, but the old man’s real love was horses.
‘Oh Dad! I’d love that. I don’t want to sleep in. Thanks!’ They were both pleased at my enthusiasm. Then the front door opened and Louise and her fiancé walked in.
‘This is my sister, Katerina!’ Lou said loudly, face glowing, fair hair pinned back in a loose top-knot. She was dressed in a long green silk blouse, tight stretch trousers, and the most wonderful soft green leather lace-up boots I’d ever seen.
‘Jean-Paul!’ she said proudly, taking my arm and pulling me towards him. I shook the tall stranger’s large slim hand and looked into the bright brown eyes that dominated his otherwise ordinary face, and liked him immediately. His curly dark hair was cut short around his head and the smile that lit up his face seemed absolutely genuine.
‘Well, congratulations!’ I said. ‘I’ve never had a brother-in-law before, but you look as though you’ll do the job splendidly!’ Everyone laughed.
‘Katerina. Thank you,’ he replied in the most charming accent. ‘And I guess you must be the second most beautiful girl in the world!’ We all laughed again and I felt as if I’d never left my place in this house. This was my kind and gracious family, everything was how it should be. Even Louise seemed wonderful. How could I ever have got involved in anything else?
Mum went to tell Gina that we were ready for dinner, and Dad got up and pretended to check that the table was set properly. We talked about riding and horses and the best kinds of saddles and bridles. Jean-Paul had grown up in the countryside in France, but had never ridden a horse. Lou and I teased him about how his bum would feel after only a ten-minute ride on our oldest nag. But he remained determined at least to have a try. They were sitting opposite each other in front of the fire, smiling, joking, and bringing me in to the conversation every now and again. The warmth of their feeling had quickly permeated the darkest, coldest crevices of my heart. Anxiety melted away inside me.
‘This is wonderful.’ I sank my teeth into the roast beef and pushed some fresh minted peas and a slice of baby potato onto my fork, wondering what the others would be doing. I’d never been to Jude’s place, but her mother intrigued me. I tossed up whether to ask my parents if they knew her, but I didn’t want to risk stopping the flow of conversation around me. I remembered how once last year, when we’d gone into her shop to get something, my mother had come out frowning. ‘What do you think that woman was thinking about?’ she’d said. And we’d both laughed. ‘She’s off with the fairies.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Cynthia Torres,’ my mother had said, her eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Married to some . . . fellow . . . somewhere in South America.’
‘Oh? Where is he?’
‘Dead, they say, but . . .’
They might be all eating fish and chips or some of that weird-smelling, spicy South American food that Jude cooked a lot. They would be talking over each other, laughing loudly with their mouths half full. Tibet. China. East Timor . . .
Our table had been set with the best polished silver; lovely tall-stemmed glasses that had originally belonged to my grandmother sparkled stiffly by each plate. Pink and white rosebuds in a small round silver vase sat squarely in the middle of the white linen tablecloth. Before the beef had come, while we were having our soup, I had just been able to smell their fragrance, wafting towards me, ever so faintly. And I’d realised, probably for the first time in my life, God, I’m lucky. These people, my parents, my sister, love me, and for no good reason at all.
‘How is Gran?’ I asked.
‘She’s staying with Jock at the moment,’ my father said. Jock was his brother. ‘But she’ll be back on Sunday night. What time are you leaving? You might get to see her before you go.’ I mumbled something about having to fit in with when the others wanted to go back.
‘Of course, of course.’ They were both at pains to show that they understood. Usually I’d have been impatient with everything about a quiet dinner at home with my parents and sister. Bored senseless with their gentle questioning, the snippets of local news. But this night I was taking it all in carefully. Wondering about it. And feeling very thankful.
Louise and Jean-Paul were left to sleep in, but I got up early the next morning to ride. After a quick shower I donned the riding outfit I’d had since I was fifteen. Riding jodhpurs, warm jacket, long flat boots and brown riding helmet. I waited outside the back gate for Jim to arrive. On the dot of seven the old ute lumbered up, mud spots all over the lower doors and mudguards.
‘Someone’s keen!’ he shouted, pulling open the door. ‘Ya get sick of the bright lights, eh?’ I smiled and hopped in next to him, loving the familiarity of his teasing and the worn, good-natured smile on his deeply lined face.
‘Yep. They couldn’t keep me away, Jim.’
‘Good for you, girl!’
The last grim weeks rolled away as I cantered along the narrow dirt track, across a fern-embedded creek, and up through the hills. The property was two thousand hectares of mainly rich and fertile flats bordering the wide river, where crops of barley, rye and oats were grown in season. But my track, the one my gran had shown me
when I was only six and when she’d been well enough to ride, was cut into the less fertile rocky hills behind. Tessy had recognised me as soon as I’d got out of the truck. ‘G’day, girlie,’ I whispered into her soft nose. ‘How’ve you been without me?’ Then Jim and I had laughed as she’d whinnied and stamped her back hooves in greeting. Within minutes we were off, flying along together – she knew exactly where I wanted to go – across the green grass, over the bridge towards the mountains. I thought of Glen and Jordan, and of Jules, but out there in that country they were as unimportant as the few small drifts of grey cloud that were scattered across the horizon on an otherwise perfect sky. A spill of unimportant rubbish that would fade away when the wind blew. They meant nothing.
The mountains in front of me stood like jagged blue cutouts in a child’s painting. I loved being out alone in that crisp morning air. I loved the feeling of Tessy’s warm body beneath me, the sound of her breathing as she made her way through the rocky edges of the hills. After half an hour we were climbing steadily and slowly towards the peak of our property. I was longing to get off the horse, stand there in the bright winter sunshine, and spin slowly around on my own two feet, taking in the panorama of hills and mountains, rivers and houses, all around. I wanted to look down on the town below, as I’d done as a child, and pick out the main street, the disused mill on the left, and our house, with the tiny rectangle of blue water in the backyard, sitting lonely, squarely on top of the one hill in town. This peak was the most perfect of places. When at last Tessy and I got there I wondered how I could have gone without it for so long.
I got back around midday. My mother was in the kitchen packing bright-coloured tins and plastic ice-cream containers into a couple of cardboard boxes.
‘How was your ride?’
‘Wonderful!’ I said, and walked to the sink for a glass of water. She smiled and waved towards the table where some freshly made sandwiches awaited me.
‘Where’re Lou and Jean-Paul?’ I asked looking out the back window. The sun was still shining. I had thought they might have been sitting on the sun deck and I’d planned to join them.
‘Daddy’s taken them out to the farm in the truck to show Jean-Paul around,’ she replied, frowning as she counted through the containers in her boxes. ‘Now, darling, would you do me a favour?’
‘Of course, Mum,’ I said, making my way over to the table.
‘Take this box out to that family for me, darling? I have a church meeting this afternoon in town and anyway I think it would be nicer coming from you.’
‘Who?’ I said, picking out a fresh tomato sandwich and taking a bite.
‘The McCaffreys,’ Mum said, as if I should have known. I stopped munching, immediately wary.
‘That poor sick woman,’ my mother said as she settled the last tin into the box, ‘with all those children.’
‘But Mum,’ I said, trying to keep the anxious note out of my voice. ‘I don’t know that they’d really want it . . . from us.’ I was appalled with the idea. Something like that would go down like a ton of bricks with Carmel. I saw in a flash the brick that had come flying through Anton’s front window and shuddered. That brick had been meant for me.
‘Nonsense, darling,’ Mum said, ‘everyone’s helping. The Red Cross have been taking bits and pieces out. Gwen Harris has been supplying them with casseroles and cakes. It’s a very difficult time for that poor man with those children. They don’t want to have to be worrying about getting meals.’
Country kindness, caring for your neighbours. All my life my mother had been doing this kind of thing!
‘I don’t even know where they live!’ I protested.
‘It’s not very far. Your father’s been there. Goodness, Katerina, it’s nothing. The round trip will take you an hour!’
I finished my lunch and went to change. Instinctively I found my oldest trousers, a man’s shirt, and a moth-eaten jumper of Dad’s over the top. I pulled my hair straight back from my face, pinned it into a tight little bun and pulled out my gold earrings. I’m not quite sure why. Mum frowned when she saw me, but said nothing. Her BMW had been packed with the goodies, and she’d drawn a little map for me, so there was nothing for it but to oblige.
Even so it took me ages to find the place. I was feeling so tense and self-conscious by the time I pulled up in our smart European car outside that funny, lopsided shack of a place that I was actually sweating. It was all too complicated. I got out of the car and went around to open the back door. I would drag in all this stuff and then clear off as quickly as I could. With a bit of luck no one would be there. Fat chance with a dying woman in the house! Still, I might be able to get away with leaving it all on the verandah.
I took the two boxes and made my way through the rusty back gate and down the path to the house. I almost groaned when I saw four people sitting in the shadow of the back verandah, watching my entrance. Jude, Annie, Declan and a boy of about seventeen, who I guessed was one of Carmel’s brothers.
‘Hi,’ Jude called cheerily, pretending she wasn’t surprised. ‘What have you got there?’ Then the back door opened and Carmel and her father walked out. I saw Carmel’s mouth drop open as she registered who I was, then her whole face tightened as if some kind of internal clamp had been screwed into position. I turned to her father, who was squinting at me, trying to work out who I was.
‘Well, hello there,’ he said. ‘Who have we got here?’
‘Good afternoon,’ I said. ‘Katerina Armstrong . . . er, these are from my mother . . . she thought it might help . . . just a few things. So sorry about your wife.’ My voice died away. I caught sight of Carmel’s face, that awful red flush rising quickly up her neck to her cheeks.
‘We don’t need anything,’ she cut in hotly. ‘Really! We’ve got tons of . . . everything.’ Her eyes were blazing, and she was standing near the door as though trying to block my path. But her father was walking towards me, past his outraged daughter, quite oblivious.
‘That’s very good of your mother, love. People are very good,’ he said as he took the boxes from me. ‘Come in now. Come in and see Nance. She likes to see whoever comes . . .’
‘Oh no!’ I said drawing back, panicking at the very idea. ‘No, really, I won’t worry her. I just came to bring the things . . . for my mother.’
But he was insisting, motioning for me to go in, holding the door open. I couldn’t refuse. I walked past the others, past Carmel, who was glowering at her feet, and into the house. There was a small, dark, rather smelly lobby filled with boots and bags and other assorted stuff, and then through another door the kitchen. I looked around in amazement. What a mess! Everything seemed to be strewn about. Newspapers and boxes, tennis racquets, an overflowing basket of washing, used dishes, pots and pans. The place stank of food and boys. I’d never seen such a chaotic room. I couldn’t imagine how a whole family, how anyone, might live there.
‘This is Joe and Shane,’ Carmel’s father said, carefully settling the boxes on the one space he could find on a side bench. I turned around and saw two young boys playing cards on the floor under the window. More brothers. They looked up at me and then went back to their game. I smiled. They were lovely-looking kids. Huck Finns with grubby clothes, bare, scraped knees, and roughly cut hair. One of them had freckles along the bridge of his nose and the other had a couple of teeth missing.
‘You must be the twins,’ I said. ‘Which is which?’ They smiled and had another look at me.
‘I’m Joe,’ said the freckled one, peering up at me curiously. ‘Who are you?’
‘Katerina,’ I said.
‘And I’m Shane,’ said the other. Then they grinned again, a little self-consciously this time, and went back to their game. ‘Up this way.’ Their father was signalling for me to come. I followed his slow-moving figure into a long dark hallway, a creeping feeling of dread stealing over me. I’ve never been even close to a really sick person before. I felt slightly ill. The knowledge that Carmel was out there wanting to stick a
dagger through my ribs probably didn’t help. He opened the door and beckoned me in.
The bedroom was small, but to my relief quite light. The soft winter sun was coming in though a large front window between the bare branches of a big deciduous tree outside. The first thing I saw was the mournful face of Jesus in a big square picture on the far wall opposite the bed – his eyes sombrely seeking my own as I moved into the room. Then I noticed the smell, not unpleasant, but sweet and musty, like the piles of rotting autumn leaves my father burnt every April. The woman, Carmel’s mother, was lying up against a whole lot of multi-coloured pillows. She was dressed in a long-sleeved flannelette nightie and was very thin and yellow, with lank grey hair. But her eyes, when she looked up at me, were wonderful, sunken in their sockets, but gleaming a heavy navy blue, bordered with thick lashes that fanned out over her skin when she blinked, like small brushes.
‘This is the Armstrong girl, Nance,’ her husband explained gently. ‘Her mother sent her over with a lot of stuff for us.’ The woman’s thin face broke into a smile.
‘Well, that’s good of you, love.’ She patted the bed. ‘Sit down and tell me your name.’ I sat down tentatively on the pink satin cover.
‘Katerina,’ I said.
‘Oh, of course!’ She looked impatiently over at her husband. ‘Neville! You know she lives with Carmel in town!’
‘Oh yeah.’ He shrugged, a little embarrassed. ‘I forgot that. The other one’s here and I get a bit confused.’ The sick woman’s face clouded momentarily.
‘She’s a little Miss, that one,’ she grumbled tersely.
‘You mean Jude?’ I asked surprised. Mrs McCaffrey nodded sourly.
‘She thinks she knows everything!’
‘Oh, she’s all right,’ I found myself saying lightly. ‘She’s really quite nice underneath.’
‘Is she now?’ They were both looking at me with keen interest, as though I’d said something of great significance. I had no idea why they should have it in for Jude and be so willing to hear what I had to say.
Queen Kat, Carmel and St Jude Get a Life Page 36
